Crossfire Pact
by @mysticravenSofia agreed to work for billionaire Damian Cross only to destroy him for ruining her family. When death threats force him to lock her inside his private estate, he dares her to pull the trigger on the gun she’s pointed at his chest. She drops it instead, and comes apart beneath him in furious surrender—even though he’s known exactly why she came all along.
MEET THE CHARACTERS
Sofia Reyes
A 26-year-old woman with honey-toned skin and sharp dark eyes that miss nothing. She moves like she owns every room she enters—hips swaying with deliberate grace, a half-smile that promises danger or pleasure, depending on what serves her. Years of watching and waiting have honed her into something lethal wrapped in silk, and she wears revenge like a second skin.
Damian Cross
A 34-year-old man with a face carved from granite and eyes the color of a storm at sea. Broad-shouldered and built like he's survived things that would break lesser men, he carries himself with the stillness of a predator who knows he's the most dangerous thing in the room. His tailored suits hide old scars and newer ones—the kind that come from trusting the wrong woman.
EXPLORE CHAPTERS
The Arrival
The estate gates close behind her car like a trap. Sofia steps out, heels clicking on stone, and he's already there—Damian Cross in a charcoal suit, sleeves rolled, watching her like he knows every mo
The Breaking Point
Her palm slides up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his collar as she pulls him down. His mouth crashes into hers—not gentle, not试探—a claiming that steals her breath and her purpose. She
Broken Open
Damian lifts her like she weighs nothing, carries her through the dark house, past rooms she's never seen. She should resist—should remember why she's here—but her body molds to his, her face pressed
His Mouth Unravels
His mouth descends, and I feel the heat of his breath before his tongue touches me—slow, flat, tasting like he has forever. My hips buck, but his hands press my thighs open, pinning me to the bed. I'm
Glass and Stone
His hand still rests on my heart, but my fingers slide from his chest to his jaw, turning his face toward the lamp's amber light. I trace the ridge of his scar, this time without calculation—just the